Hoo-Ha Shenanigans

Why is it that once you are reminded of something, you can't get rid of that moment no matter how hard you try? Even though you were blissfully unaware that THAT precise moment had ever existed, until someone brought it up again. This has happened to me. And it has opened up a whole venue of embarrassing moments for me lately, revolving around the object that I have thus far managed to dance around naming. I hate talking about it. Hate, hate, hate. BUT MAYBE... yes.. MAYBE.. if I share with everyone.. I will be able to get it OUT OF MY MIND before I go insane!
So, you ready to find out what I'm talking about? The one thing I covet above anything else, and rarely like to share? The one thing I take pride and joy in, and lavish a ton of attention on? Ok, I'm embellishing. A lot. Just trying to throw you off track.
I mean really.. who wants to talk about their female parts? Their va-jay-jay (Hallie speak), their hoo-ha, THEIR WOMANHOOD???
Well, I do. Of course. Because if I didn't... it wouldn't be here. So, kick back, relax, and enjoy my moments of HORROR, where the main character on the scene is my hoo-ha.
I had a horrible pregnancy with Buckwheat. Constant urinary tract infections that were uncontrollable, combined with kidney infections that knocked on my door at least monthly during those grueling nearly-9-months. To top it all off, that nasty little demon had his head shoved as far into my canal as he could get it, without breaking my water. Sometimes I swore that if I stood over a mirror, I would be able to see him peeking back at me.. HE WAS THAT LOW. And not just for a week, or two, or a month... but NEARLY 3 MONTHS. The most uncomfortable 3 months of pregnancy to begin with, were topped off with my son's head grinding into my nether regions. But anyway, I'm being sidetracked.
At some point late in my 8th month, I had an incident where I thought that my water broke. A quick trip to the hospital (I was unsure anyway, I had Braxton-Hicks contractions that didn't always go away with changing positions) assured me that it wasn't my water. My son was laying on my bladder so heavily, that I literally never felt the need to relieve myself, and couldn't control myself. Yeah, laugh it up. That still isn't the reason I'm posting this.
Within the next few days after the water that didn't break incident, I started noticing a weird discharge of fluids. And, to me, it had a slight odor to it. All I could think of was warm fresh bread (please don't let that ruin fresh bread for you.. except for you, and you over there, and you RIGHT THERE.. I don't mind if it ruins it for you guys). So, on my next OB visit, I pointed it out to my High Risk doc while he was doing an internal.
Now, let me point out that I didn't care for my doctor. Not one bit. I had a hard time understanding him, his English sucked that bad. He had no bedside manner, and even less humor. I couldn't talk to this guy about anything.
Before he could rattle off a list of things to do/not do over the next couple of weeks and then run out the door without answering my questions, I cornered him while he was finishing up the exam. And that is where I mortified myself for the rest of eternity.
T-Bone was there for every appointment I had, with it being his first child, he didn't want to miss a thing. Plus, the internals were always so uncomfortable and sometimes painful, that I used him to keep me calm. So, he was there when I mentioned it. And he was there to witness what happened next.
That doctor gave me a queer look, asked me what kind of "smell" I thought I was noticing, and after I explained that to me it smelled like warm bread... he did something awful. So awful, that I wiped it from my memory. Until T-Bone brought it up again a couple of weeks ago.. in front of friends.
Tired of waiting to see what happened??? Fine, I guess I should share.
That doctor leaned between my stirrup-ed legs, stopped mere centimeters from my hoo-ha (which, by the way.. was still uncovered)... and sniffed me. Long and hard. He took in a whole lungful of my femininity.
My mouth dropped. My heart stopped. He stood, exclaimed that everything smelled just fine to him, and walked away, pulling the curtain shut behind him. T-Bone actually had to start tugging on my arm to get me moving, so I could get dressed and leave the appointment. He must have noticed the look on my face, for he didn't say a word. Not then. Nope. My hubby's sweet like that.
The next appointment was set, instructions were given, I left the office. T-Bone and I were well in the truck and belted in before I broke the silence.
"No, he DID NOT just SNIFF ME!!" T-Bone couldn't control it any longer. He started laughing so hard that it took him a while to compose himself.
I understand what possessed the guy to do it, kind of. It wasn't like he was being a big old pervert, he was trying to get the gist of what I was smelling. And what better way to do that, than to go to the source. It was just so unexpected that it startled the hell out of me.
When I think about it though, if he had politely asked "Would you mind terribly if I sniffed your hoo-ha to get an accurate take on what you think you are smelling?"... I would have kicked the living shit out of him.. for as long as my legs could reach him. I would have been offended, I would have been shocked, I would have put up a fight. So, he just skipped all of that, and did what he thought he needed to do.
And that was embarrass me for life. Yup, that man needs a medal. And, if you need someone to sniff your hoo-ha for you, I have his number. I hope you are attracted to portly old guys with no humor, or it isn't going to go over well.